


You're To Blame (For All the Life That You'll Lose)

by AM505



Series: Abandon You (I Wish I Could) [4]
Category: Misfits (TV 2009)
Genre: Bottom Nathan Young, Canon-Typical Violence, Choking, Dark, Explicit Sexual Content, Face Slapping, Flashbacks, Hurt/Comfort, Lace Panties, Light Bondage, M/M, Murder, Nathan Young Has Feelings, Nathan wearing high heels, Nightmares, Non-Consensual Touching, Possessive Behavior, Prostitution, Protective Simon Bellamy, Recovering from attempted rape/ non-con, Recovery, Simon keeps crossing boundaries to be close to Nathan, Simon spies on Nathan, Simon wants Nathan to sleep in his bed, Spanking, Traumatised Nathan, Urination, Voyeurism, Whump, mini skirts, possessive Simon, watersports (non-consensual)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:55:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27934216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AM505/pseuds/AM505
Summary: Nathan is trembling and numb, apart from the fear and bitterness that goes through his mind one final time before his anguish stops and dies with him, in a big outpouring of blood that leaves his mouth in lieu of his questions:Where were you?Why did you leave me?Why did you let him get to me?Why didn’t you stop him sooner?Or, Nathan wakes up from his most recent murder and finds himself scarred in ways he wasn't expecting. Meanwhile, Simon decides he won't ever leave him out of sight again.
Relationships: Simon Bellamy/Nathan Young
Series: Abandon You (I Wish I Could) [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1993498
Comments: 18
Kudos: 55





	1. The Only Constant

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! Happy December everyone.
> 
> So pleased to be able to update one more time before moving flats and literally having no time to myself haha. Thanks so much for the lovely feedback I've had recently, it really keeps me going! :)
> 
> Just a quick *trigger warning* to start off with: mentions of graphic violence, murder and attempted rape/ non-con. Please stay safe, and feel free to leave feedback. Thanks x

_He is going to die._

_He knows because Dixon is sitting on top of him, half-naked and hard, rubbing against him and making him feel his erection against his will. And every time this prick grinds him down and humiliates him, it ends with Nathan getting killed. That’s the power dynamic. Their whole routine. Dixon loves to humiliate and overpower him, and now, he has forced him underneath his sweaty body, which Nathan can’t do a damned thing about. He’s incapacitated. He’s drunk and confused and weak with dizziness, and he’s feeling absolutely **hysterical** because he knows where this is going._

_He can’t even beg him to stop. He can’t negotiate, can’t string together a single sentence. So Nathan just wails as loudly as he can, before Dixon brings his sour breath closer to his face and crushes his chest with his heavy weight. His clothes are being torn and peeled off his shivering body. As expected, Dixon wants a taste. Wants Nathan to give in. To let him in. Where did Barry and Kelly go? They were right by his side only a minute ago. Unless he’d dreamt it. Maybe he really is all alone. Maybe he wouldn’t have gotten himself into this shit if he hadn’t pushed everyone away that could have protected him, if he hadn’t been such a dickhead. Really, it’s his own fault for pissing off Kelly and for playing games with Barry relentlessly, until he grew sick and tired of him. Curtis, not that he can blame him, has hated him all along. And now, Alisha, too, ever since he’s been pestering Barry so much. In the span of only a few weeks, he’s turned everyone against him, **and** he’s made an archenemy that keeps coming back to murder him._

_Great._

_Nathan feels like such an idiot, he probably deserves to die. Again. Which he most certainly will. But not like this, please god, not like this. He doesn’t deserve **this**. Not this other horrible, unspoken thing that is already underway. It’s coming and he’s powerless to stop it, so he starts to thrash and cry, trying **so** hard to resist, because this is different from the other times Dixon has killed him. He can see it in his eyes. The loathing. The itch to finally hurt and tear apart and damage him in ways that Nathan can’t even fathom. As the man takes his erection in his hand and prepares himself obscenely, he shakes his head pleadingly, turning into a pathetic, small, sobbing mess. It makes no difference, of course, but Nathan is willing to do anything, absolutely anything it takes to make him stop._

_Kelly’s shouting brings him suddenly out of the darkness. For the briefest of moments, Nathan believes he’s about to be freed, believes that everything is going to be fine. But then there is movement and more shouting, and he doesn’t really catch what’s happening until he feels it, ramming through his stomach before he can braze himself. It feels like being hit by a baseball bat, until the pain sharpens, deepens, making him realise he isn’t being attacked by a blunt object. Blood releases all over his abdomen. At first, it’s both burning hot and excruciating, yet nothing compared to the feeling of the blade pulling out a second later. Then, the agony turns very much cold. **He** is cold. But it doesn’t end there. A rough hand is pulling his head forward, wrapping itself in his hair._

_The cut is swift and deliberate and is performed before Nathan manages to inhale. His airways are slashed open and fill with blood before he can even blink. Panicking, he tries to cry for help, but the blood gets in the way and clogs his mouth, only allowing him to choke and sputter without drawing any air. This is how he dies. His mind accepts his fate much faster than his body can give up fighting and overcome the urge and instinct to survive. He knows from experience not to resist it, or the struggle becomes all the more painful as it draws out. By now, dying should be an easy thing. It’s part of him. He and death are interwoven. It has become the only constant in his life, the only thing he can really count on. He can’t shake it off, but neither can he be defeated by it. So why does it still hurt so much?_

_It hurts because, as his thoughts interrupt and his vision darkens, Kelly hovers above his face, crying, consequently destroying Nathan’s acceptance with her tears. By then it’s too late. Nathan doesn’t want to let go, and doesn’t want to be let go of. Rather than dying, he wants her to make it okay somehow, and to promise not to leave him again. Suddenly Barry appears next to her, all stricken with horror, making the pain all the much harder to bear. His blue eyes are watching him with dedication, but he doesn’t do anything to make it stop. Why isn’t he trying to fix this? Why does it always have to end with Nathan suffering and perishing, like it’s the natural order of things? He doesn’t want to succumb again. He doesn’t want to slip away. He wants them to save him, just this one time. But they’re not going to._

_Nathan is trembling and numb, apart from the fear and bitterness that goes through his mind one final time before his anguish stops and dies with him, in a big outpouring of blood that leaves his mouth in lieu of his questions:_

_Where were you?_

_Why did you leave me?_

_Why did you let him get to me?_

_Why didn’t you stop him sooner?_

*

Hands are on him, touching everywhere, brushing over his face and lips before moving down his neck and chest, and before Nathan even blinks his eyes open, he’s feeling instantly trapped and overwhelmed by fear. The fingers are unrelenting and much too close for his liking, grazing and rubbing against his skin, causing him to feel assaulted and invaded. It’s very much an instinctive and unaware reaction. He inhales suddenly and comes back to life gasping, shaking, retreating. _No more._ He can’t take any more degradation. It’s all too much, all he wants to do is scream, but he fails to make a sound, feeling like he's come apart. All he manages is a pitiful wheezing noise as he starts to hyperventilate, utterly distressed. 

He has to get away this time.

He can never let this happen again.

“Nathan, hey - take it easy. It’s us.” He recognises Kelly’s voice, but it takes him a moment before he connects the fingers touching him with her. “You’re safe now, I promise. It’s only us.”

But he still flinches and backs away as soon as he regains control of his body. He can’t calm his nerves, can’t catch his breath. He can’t shake the feeling of danger. He begins to blink his eyes compulsively as he struggles to see, focus, understand. Dixon. What has happened to him? Where is he?

“Kelly, we should give him some space.” 

Barry’s voice interjects, serious with concern, and as a result, Kelly lets go, breaks the contact.

“I was only - I mean, I needed to wash the blood of ya. I’m sorry, Nathan. I’m so sorry.”

Only then does he push himself up on his elbows and glance down at his body. He’s covered in dried blood, so thick he can barely see his own skin underneath. Kelly is on her knees next to him and she’s looking _wrecked._ She’s gone all dark underneath her eyes and her make-up is smeared down her cheeks. She’s been crying. Over him. She looks like she has gone a full night without sleeping, working hard to try and make things better. Make Nathan better. There’s a bucket of soapy water next to her. In her hand she’s clutching a small cloth that’s caked with his blood. Nathan suddenly remembers and grasps at his neck before he can stop himself. It’s all healed, of course, the cut is gone. But there’s a distant imprint, a sensation which lingers and vibrates dully, like a tingle. It’s making him instantly queasy. Knowing he’s had his throat cut is making him want to throw up.

“Are you okay? How do you feel?”

Barry is now stepping closer. He watches Nathan cautiously, careful not to startle him. But Nathan is already desperate to jilt and get the hell out of there. He can’t stand the way they’re both looking at him. He can’t deal with any questions, can’t go through with an actual conversation. He doesn’t want to talk about what’s happened. He doesn’t want to know.

“Nathan,” whispers Kelly, worried at the lack of response. “Please talk to me. You’re not hurting, are ya?” 

Nathan withdraws his hand from his neck, wincing at the dried blood that sticks to his skin, itching and making him feel unclean. He realises he’s naked apart from his underwear, which Dixon never had the time to tear off him. They’ve covered his legs under a blanket to keep him warm and make him feel less exposed. Now, however, he’s going to have to throw the blanket away. It’s all soaked with blood. Everything is. His mattress, his clothes, his stolen bedsheets. Where is he even going to sleep tonight? How is he going to be able to afford a new bed?

He’s upset and frustrated all at once, and yet he’s trying hard to bite his emotions back. For now, he wants to keep everything bottled up inside.

“Do you remember what happened?” Asks Barry suddenly, and fuck, what a moronic question that is. “Do you remember the… attack?”

“You were spiked, Nathan,” Kelly informs him, but he doesn’t want to go there. “We thought you were just drunk, so we took you back here. We didn’t know. We didn’t know someone was going to be here, waiting until you were alone. I’m so sorry. I should have stayed to look after you. I should have-”

Nathan doesn’t want to hear the rest, so he scrambles to his feet quickly and pulls the bloodied blanket tightly around his body. Kelly looks slightly staggered, but before she has the chance to tell him otherwise, he storms out and finds himself running down the stairs. It’s a miracle he doesn’t trip and break his neck, he’s feeling so unsteady and rigid. He races to the nearest toilet and closes the door behind him. Being alone is a massive relief. It’s making it easier for him to breathe, and think, and now that he feels less crowded, he wraps his arms around his body, trying to keep his quivering under control. 

They don’t spare him any privacy at all. Only a moment later, they are both stood on the other side, knocking on the door ceaselessly. 

“Nathan, please don’t do this,” he hears Kelly begging, but her interruption is only making him press his back against the wall. “Don’t hide from us. We’re only trying to help you.”

“Is there anything we can do?” Barry questions innocently, like it’s all a matter of making the right gesture. “Can we get you anything? Do you want your clothes?”

Nathan doesn’t reply. All he wants is to roll up into a ball and lie down on the floor, but he settles for slumping down on top of the lidded toilet seat, inhaling and exhaling until he no longer feels like dying. No one can touch him in here. No one can watch his humiliation. 

“Nathan,” Kelly urges him again, “you have to come out. It’s early morning. Shaun is already in his office. He’ll be looking for us soon. He can’t see you like this, do you understand?” 

She doesn’t understand that Shaun is pretty much the last person Nathan cares about. So what if he finds him hiding in the toilet, undressed and covered in blood? What is he going to do about it? Shaun doesn’t give a shit about them. He has no real power. Nathan welcomes him to try his best.

“There is something you should know,” Barry blurts out when Kelly fails to reason with him. “If you can’t come out, maybe you can let us in for a moment?” 

He doesn’t move an inch. Nothing can possibly be important enough and even if it was, he doesn’t have the strength to get up. He’s feeling useless and weak. Just like when Dixon moved on top of him and began his assault. He hadn’t been able to stop him or put up a fight. He’d just lied there, all flaccid. He’d never thought that sort of thing could happen to him in a million years. Until now, Nathan had believed himself to be untouchable. 

“Come on, you haven’t said a word. You’ve got to talk to us.” Kelly knocks insistently. “You’re going to be alright, Nathan. I promise. You have nothing to be afraid of. Not anymore. He’s gone. Whoever the man was that attacked you, he’s never going to lay a finger on you again.”

It takes him a minute to let it sink in. At first, he hardly trusts what she’s telling him. He wants to ask for a guarantee, or a receipt, something that reads, black on white, that Dixon will never hurt him again. Slowly, he realises what she’s actually saying by that.

“Is he… dead?”

He hates how timid and delicate he sounds. The voice that comes out sounds nothing like him. But then, his sudden urge to know for certain drives him to rise and to unlock the door. Kelly and Barry are standing there in front of him, pale and tense as they look behind them one more time to ensure that no one is listening.

Then, Barry nods his head eagerly, looking stern and sincere. 

“How?” Nathan’s heart is beating so fast, it’s making his head spin. “What did you - where’s the…”

He takes a step back and leans against the wall. He’s worried he’s going to collapse. The next thing he knows, Barry crosses the threshold and puts his hand on his shoulder. It’s meant to comfort him, but Nathan is still feeling jittery and nervous.

“We took care of it. He’s gone. He will never bother you again, Nathan.” 

Unlike him, Barry’s hand is so steady and firm. Confident. Nathan’s mind is all over the place, but when he accidentally looks into the other boy’s eyes, he catches a hint of steely, cold resolution. Maybe in that moment, he finally understands how Barry is going to become Future Simon one day. It has never made sense to him before, but now, Barry - _Simon_ \- is looking so incredibly strong. There is a sense of righteousness that radiates off him. Protection. Like he would catch him if Nathan was to fall. He doesn’t let himself crumble so easily, however, even if that’s exactly what he feels like doing. Instead, he shrugs Barry’s hand off him and turns to push back the toilet seat. He feels the nausea building up quickly and so, he falls to his knees. He empties his stomach messily and loudly, with Kelly rubbing his back and Barry draping the blanket over his shoulders before it slips down.

After that, he doesn’t remember them persuading him to get cleaned and dressed. He doesn’t remember the excuse they all give Shaun, and subsequently Curtis and Alisha, for being late. He doesn’t remember the bollocking, or the litter-picking for the next couple of hours. His mind is vacant and dull. He keeps reminding himself that Dixon is dead, because for some reason, it doesn’t register. He almost doesn’t believe it. His tormentor is gone. He wonders how he died, although it’s probably irrelevant. His instinct tells him Barry did it, although he’s seen Kelly kill before. She’s totally fearless. But Kelly doesn’t know half the horrible shit Dixon has done and therefore, he’s certain it’s him. After all, Barry did pummel him with a chair already. He’s capable of taking action alright.

“The fuck is up with you three?” Alisha remarks when they’re outside and Curtis finds an old Playboy magazine in between the piles of rubbish, to which no one makes a comment. She’s naturally expecting Nathan to crack jokes, or make everyone uncomfortable by studying the pictures openly, but he doesn’t take his eyes off the ground from where he’s collecting cigarette butts and broken glass. Alisha seems to study him for a moment, before realising Kelly and Barry are much the same, walking behind him like a pair of zombies, not talking, not caring. “I don’t get it. You all went home early. Why are you so tired?”

“Ever heard of hangovers, Alisha?” Chuckles Curtis before they can say anything. “Idiot number one got himself so pissed he spent the whole night puking, while idiot number two,” he points at Barry with his litter picker, “had two beers and got so tipsy he couldn’t get up from the toilet floor. It was pathetic. No wonder Kelly is exhausted from dealing with them.”

Nathan doesn’t remember Barry being in the toilets, or Barry acting drunk. He has no idea what Curtis is talking about.

“Simon was on the toilet floor?” Alisha doesn’t sound like she believes him. “Come on, he barely had anything to drink.”

“I know. That’s what makes him an idiot!” Jokes Curtis. “Dude, I’m telling you, you were dripping with sweat. Your eyes were rolling around in your head, like this. You were a right mess!” 

Barry is pale and groggy from not having slept. Nathan glances at him, catches his frown. He feels suddenly bad that Curtis is having a go at him like this. He wonders if he should say something, but it’s hard seeing as he doesn’t remember a thing. In the end, Kelly beats him to it.

“Lay off him, yeah? Simon was ill, I’ll have ya know. He couldn’t help it.” 

“Ill?” Alisha asks with worry.

She’s been so concerned lately whenever it’s Barry. Well, Simon. _Her_ Simon, whom she can’t wait to turn into Future Simon, apparently. Present-tense-Simon, however, often seems to forget he’s supposed to be with her. Maybe not now, but eventually. When he’s ready. When he’s become everything Alisha wants him to be.

“I - I think I just ate something that didn’t agree with me,” Barry stutters, looking like he wants to be left alone. “I haven’t been feeling a hundred percent.” 

“Fuck off,” laughs Curtis demeaningly, “you were off your tits, mate. You were rambling and shit. _‘Help me, Curtis!’_ ” He imitates a drunken voice that sounds nothing like Barry. _"‘I can’t get up, something weird is happening…_ ' That’s not food poisoning, that’s just being wasted.” 

Nathan looks at Barry with surprise, but he averts his eyes quickly, ignoring everyone’s staring at him. He recalls his own bewilderment when the tripping, spinning feeling had struck him from out of nowhere. He recalls trying to fight Dixon’s hands off him, but not being able to aim, or focus. He remembers wanting to run, flee, despite barely being able to walk. Above all, he remembers feeling scared, not understanding what was happening to him. Is it possible the same thing happened to Barry? How? Dixon never saw who attacked him in his office. He would have had no reason to go after anyone else.

“Shut up,” grunts Kelly suddenly, “some people are more intolerant to booze. So what?”

She is covering for him, Nathan realises. Something did happen to Barry. And it’s part of the bigger _something,_ which is still being kept secret, and which explains why they are not telling Alisha and Curtis the truth. It’s not like him to keep his head down in a turn of events like this one, but still, Nathan does. He knows better than to ask questions he’s afraid of hearing the answers to. Besides, Barry continues to turn away whenever he steals a glance at him, which for now, is all the answer he needs.

*

During lunch, Nathan manages to go to the rooftop for some privacy. He doesn’t feel like company. He doesn’t feel like chatting or eating. He’s feeling battered and overwhelmed, like he hasn’t yet managed to sort his thoughts out. He needs peace and quiet to think things through and yet, there’s a lot of stuff he’s refusing to process. Like how he feels guilty and stupid for getting himself murdered again, and feels responsible for probably risking Kelly and Barry’s lives. And how he blames himself for letting Dixon con and ambush him. He should have never let him get that close. He should have never been so reckless. He feels lousy and self-loathing. **Dirty.** Dixon’s disgusting, brutish hands dirtied him all over.

Absent-mindedly, Nathan touches at the tiny marks on his neck and only then remembers the boy he kissed outside the pub. He never even asked his name. He wishes he could remember in detail the way he’d held him and shoved his tongue inside his mouth because damn, it had been pretty fucking arousing. He remembers the taste of his mouth and the smell of his cologne, but not the colour of his eyes or the sound of his voice. He wants to curse himself for being so shallow, but then again, Dixon drugged him, so really, it’s amazing he remembers last night at all. 

It seems a shame he never took his number. The biting had freaked him out at the time and it had hurt like hell, but now, Nathan muses, it’s probably the one thing making their kiss all the more hotter. Better. In fact, it’s catching him off guard all over again just how much he enjoys thinking about it, and likes to run his fingertips across the tiny, little dents in his skin. There’s something oddly exciting about it, like a hickey, but one that’s more valuable seeing as he’s paid a price for it with his pain. Maybe he should try and track down the poor fella and apologise for jilting like that. He doesn’t remember what names he may have called him in the heat of the moment, but he remembers feeling pissed off and for that he’s sorry. He didn’t deserve such an angry response. After all, he’d seemed kind. Nathan has always assumed that nice boys were less interesting, but clearly he must have been wrong all these years. He wouldn't be sitting here smiling if the guy from last night was a bore.

He lights a cigarette and reclines in the armchair, not caring if Shaun inquires about the smoke coming from the roof. He hears footsteps behind him a moment later and turns around to see Kelly standing in the door.

“Nathan?” She approaches him warily, like she expects him to run away and lock himself in the toilets again. “I just wanted to - I mean, I feel like I should…” She pauses and seems to change her mind about what she wants to say. “I noticed you’re not having lunch. You should eat something. Even if you want to be alone right now, you should eat.”

Nathan exhales slowly and shrugs his shoulders.

“Yeah, I know. Maybe later. Dying and all that, you know, it’s hard on the bowels.”

She’s so used to him joking about his bowels, she doesn’t know whether to take it seriously anymore.

“I’ve got an apple,” she says, holding it up for him to see. “I’m sure it's good for your stomach. I don’t want it, anyway. I don’t eat fruit.”

“And what about my ASBO makes you think I do?”

He cracks a small smile and lowers his cigarette. She seems relieved that he’s finally talking. He’s not exactly back to his old self, but that’s probably for the best. If he starts to joke about what happened last night so soon, he’s pretty certain she would kick the shit out of him. 

“Nathan, I’m… I’m so sorry for what happened. I’m sorry for not stopping it. I feel terrible.” He tries to stop her mid-apology, but she carries on determinedly: “I feel so guilty for not believing you. I mean, I just assumed you were getting purposely drunk or somethin’. I turned my back on you when you were so out of it, there was no way I should have left you alone. You tried to warn us, didn’t you? Outside. You knew the man. You saw his car.” 

He swallows drily, reluctant to answer. 

“Please, Nathan, I know you’ve been keeping stuff from me, because I’ve told you I don’t want to know, but…” Kelly sighs and puts the apple down when her hands are suddenly shaking. “I don’t ever want to make this mistake again, do you understand? If you’re in trouble, I want you to tell me. You can’t ever die again because of me. I - I can’t bear it.” 

Annoyed with herself, she groans when the tears prickle in her eyes. She tries to wipe them away quickly, but now he feels awful knowing that she’s blaming herself.

“It wasn’t your fault. I didn’t die because of you,” he tells her truthfully, but she pulls a face like she doesn’t believe him. “No, seriously. You did nothing wrong. You and Barry, you guys saved me.” 

“We did not,” she sobs, “we watched the man kill you. We failed you.” 

“But you’ve stopped him from ever doing it again,” he points out as he searches for a silver lining. 

“Nathan, I don’t understand. How did he know about your immortality?” When he hesitates, she seems to work it out for herself: “Was he your client? Has he - has he killed you before?”

Nathan takes a drag from his cigarette as he admits guiltily:

“Well, it was very much consensual in the beginning, when he played by the rules. That was before I knew he was a pig.” He watches how horrified she looks and adds quickly: “Look, he never actually managed to, you know… force himself on me. He tried, but thanks to you guys, it never came to that.”

No matter how hard he tries to put a positive spin on this, Kelly continues to pull those faces of disgust, and dread. 

“Christ, Nathan, why did you ever go through with this shit?” She takes a seat next to him, appearing almost deflated. “I hate the idea of all these men hurting you. What if something goes wrong again? What if we are not there to help you next time?”

He wants to tell her that there won’t be a next time, that he’s going to be smart from now on. But at the risk of making promises he can’t keep, he merely changes the topic:

“What happened to Barry last night? Is it true that he was ill?” 

Kelly groans again, perhaps at the intensity of the conversation, or perhaps because of Nathan’s deflecting. He passes his cigarette to her, and she doesn’t hesitate before taking a drag. 

“Truth is, I don’t even know. He was looking rough. A bit like you, but more lucid.” She blows out the smoke into the wind quietly. “I haven’t asked him what happened. But he was the one who figured out you were spiked. He raised the alarm when I was going to turn my back on ya.”

Nathan is about to ask her again, but it’s Kelly’s turn to deflect:

“Who gave you that bite? I thought it was from a client, you knob.”

At first, he’s feeling slightly disappointed that he’s failed to hide it from her. He feels weirdly protective of it and wishes he could have kept it to himself. On the other hand, though, kissing cute boys equals bragging rights. If only he hadn’t spent so much time banging on about girls and promoting his own heterosexuality. 

“Alright, yes. I got a little frisky with someone last night,” he smirks, because that’s as specific as he wishes to be right now, “and before you ask, it was before I became all… fucked up. Well, it was and it wasn’t. I was already feeling blurry, but I think I knew what I was doing.”

Kelly raises an eyebrow at that. 

“You _think_ you knew what you were doing? So the other person wasn’t, like, taking advantage?”

“Of course not." _He even stopped to make sure I wanted it._

“He?”

Nathan flinches at his own blunder. When will he learn to censor his thoughts around her? Rather than denying it, however, he quickly decides to own it. 

“Yup. _He_ was a right good kisser as well. Tall. Muscular, strong arms, like this big. Gorgeous blonde hair. Of course I wanted it.” Nathan steals the cigarette back and tries to keep a straight face. Tries not to make a big deal out of his admission. “Anyway, where’s Barry? Lunch is nearly over.”

Turns out Barry has spent his break sleeping in a wheelchair in the lobby. Kelly goes to wake him up seeing as it’s 2pm, otherwise known as graffiti-removal-o’clock on Fridays. They haven’t talked since leaving the roof and while she hasn’t said anything to question the authenticity of Nathan’s kissing story, he wonders if she assumes it all to be a joke. He feels there is a lack of reaction, perhaps out of respect, considering what a hellish day it’s been. Maybe she just isn’t that surprised to learn that he willingly kisses guys when he’s been drinking. Maybe he was never as discreet as he thought he was regarding that. After all, he’s never been all that clever.

At the end of the day, Kelly and Barry stick around to help Nathan get rid of his bloodied clothes, bedsheets, mattress. The various materials have been exposed to too much blood, absolutely none of it can be saved. So they end up setting fire to it all, burning all evidence before tossing the remains into large containers. This is it. Nathan feels like he’s left with next to nothing. He will either have to sleep on the floor tonight, or he can try and steal the sofa cushions from Shaun’s office. If he hasn’t locked his door, that is. Which he probably has. Especially since he’s discovered all the alcohol going missing from the cafeteria over night.

“Maybe you should stay at your mum’s tonight,” says Kelly, who doesn’t seem to think Nathan is capable of being alone right now. “I’m sure she’ll let you in if you ask her nicely.” 

“No way,” he retorts, although he briefly picks up his phone like he’s considering calling her, “not with all my marks. She’ll collapse and knock out even more of her teeth if she sees ‘em.”

 _Maybe it’s time you thought about what you’re putting other people through with your actions._ It’s what he almost expects Kelly to say, but naturally, she doesn’t. 

“She’s your mum, Nathan, she would want you to be safe right now.”

“What about your dad?” Barry suggests, and if it wasn’t for Nathan feeling low and shit about everything, he would have mocked him cruelly for being so unforgivably daft. “What?” Barry catches his disapproving expression and looks at him innocently. “Come on, he can’t be that bad.”

“Can’t be that bad?” Nathan huffs, deciding to give them the full speech about his eighth birthday, about being left in Ikea, about his dad choosing the flat pack furniture over him.

Kelly stops him before he can get to the ending.

“Okay, we get it. You were left with a well-known paedophile for a few hours and he fed you Swedish meatballs, you don’t have to tell us again.” She crosses her arms, looking increasingly worried. “Well, I don’t know what else to do. I can’t invite you over, not tonight. My mum is painting the living room at the moment, all the furniture has been taken out. And there’s no way she’d let you sleep in my room.”

“It’s fine,” Nathan tells her, because the truth is, he hates the idea of needing supervision almost as much as he hates the idea of meeting parents. “I’ll stay here, I’ll figure something out.”

“Nathan, you have no bed.”

“You should come home with me,” says Barry then, just as Nathan thought he was going to have it his way. “We have spare mattresses. And my parents won’t mind. If anything, they would love it if I brought someone home.”

“What, for the first time ever?” Nathan jokes cuttingly before he can stop himself. “Sorry, man. It’s just, you don’t strike me as the having-friends-over type of guy.”

Barry glares at him and it’s pretty obvious he’s offended.

“You’re not the first friend I’ve ever had over, Nathan. Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Yeah, come on, don’t be such a dickhead,” Kelly chimes in. “Go with him. I’ll feel a lot better if you do.”

“You can’t ask me to venture into his room like there’s _zero_ possibility it’s really some sort of creepy sex dungeon used to host the rest of the paedophile ring,” he teases as if he’s secretly trying to get Barry to withdraw his invitation. “You haven’t seen his room, have you? I may not live to tell!”

Kelly rolls her eyes and she visibly has to stop herself from shoving him. 

“You’re homeless! Quit being such a moron and just go with him!”

“Or if you don’t come with me,” Barry threatens, “maybe I’ll just stay here for the night and keep you company. Even if it means sleeping in the wheelchair.”

Nathan knows he’s being ridiculous. He knows he’s hiding behind his absurd jokes and using his infantile sense of humour as a defense mechanism. For some reason, he can’t just graciously accept Barry’s offer.

“Well, if I’m going to be stuck with you all night,” he says mockingly, “I suppose we may as well have beds and a room with central heating.”

Barry smiles because he’s caved.

Now it’s Nathan’s turn to roll his eyes as he wishes to just get it over with.


	2. The Second You Sleep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somehow managed to find a spare moment to finish chapter 2, so here we go!! :)

“Your parents sure don’t act like you’ve ever had friends over before,” teases Nathan as they head upstairs to Barry’s room after dinner. “Are you sure I’m not your first?”

“Fuck off,” Barry tells him while searching the closet for clean bedsheets, “I already told you, you’re not my first house guest. My parents are just relieved that I have socially recovered from my time in the unit.”

“You mean the mental institution?”

“Yes, Nathan, obviously. Look, they are just excited to see a new face. That’s all.”

Barry’s parents seemed lovely at dinner, really. Welcoming. Barry hadn’t even needed to call his mum ahead and ask her first. It had been a total surprise for the family when he showed Nathan in through the door, but they’d been nice to him straight away. For that reason, and for their lack of scrutiny and mistrust, Nathan had actually tried to act like a normal, decent human being for once. He’d tried to put a lid on his sarcasm and generally difficult attitude because somehow, Barry’s folks were different. They seemed eager, almost desperate to like him. It would have taken him some serious effort to actually fuck that up.

“So. This is your room.” Nathan steps inside and lets Barry carry the bedding by himself. “I forget how anal and tidy you are.” 

“Gee, thanks.” 

“No, it’s nice. Surprisingly normal-looking. I was expecting a lot more sci-fi stuff.”

“You make me sound like I’m five years old,” complains Barry as he drags the guest mattress across the floor and begins to make Nathan’s bed. 

“Well, you do have a bookshelf full of Star Trek DVDs,” Nathan notices, chuckling. 

“What’s wrong with Star Trek?”

“Nothing, man. I prefer it to the porn you’ve probably tucked away somewhere.”

“Seriously, Nathan, you’ve been in my room for five seconds and you’re already making shit up.”

“Alright, alright, I’ll stop. Can I sit on your bed while you do my bedsheets? I’m fucking beat.”

“Right, I’m sure it must be exhausting for you letting me do all the work.” But Barry gestures towards the bed, nods: “Yeah, fine, sit wherever you want.” 

Nathan jumps down on top of Barry’s spring mattress that bounces perfectly underneath him. God, it feels like ages since he’s slept in a normal bed. He’s almost forgotten what it’s like to not sleep on the floor, and not wake up in the morning with back problems. The bedroom is so warm and comfortable compared to the community centre. As soon as he puts up his feet and leans back, Nathan begins to feel his eyes closing automatically. He can’t help it. He’s so full from dinner - he hasn’t had a proper, home cooked meal in a while, so it’s making him feel good and fulfilled and drowsy all at once. Barry’s saying something, but he doesn’t really hear him. He can’t remember the last time he felt this relaxed. Maybe coming here wasn’t such a bad idea, after all. For tonight, Nathan has everything he needs and he doesn’t have to worry about earning his next meal. The sound of Barry’s voice is almost comforting as it fades slowly and becomes distant. Nathan breathes evenly, each inhale becoming heavier and more smooth, until finally, he sleeps and unwinds completely.

He’s been out for a few hours when the nightmare inevitably kicks in.

_“Stop your fucking wriggling and look at me.”_

His wrist is being seized and twisted painfully, then pinned down against the floor. His mouth is covered by a hand that drowns out his begging. 

_“You want this, slut. Don’t pretend you don’t.”_

The voice is Dixon’s, but it’s darker. It sounds demonised and exaggerated in his head. His body has somehow grown larger since the last time he was on him. Nathan feels he’s getting crushed slowly, with no chance of escaping. Soon his breath will be stolen from him again.

_“This is where you belong, you bitch. You’re mine. I’m never letting you go.”_

Nathan kicks, but it’s like kicking against a stone wall. He can’t get through. He can’t shift the weight off him. He’s not strong enough. He’s small and useless and simply not _capable_ of fighting. He was always going to give up like the coward he is. 

_“You know you’ve been a bad boy, don’t you? And do you know what happens to bad boys? They get punished.”_

Flashbacks are repeating in his head, causing him to protest more urgently. Dixon seems to grow a third hand, which wraps around his throat and stops him from emitting his screaming. Nathan thrashes and chokes, thrashes and chokes, starts to die all over again.

 _“Have I ever told you, you have the loveliest, tiniest little hole I’ve ever felt. Makes me certain I can tear you apart.”_

Finally, his cries escape his throat somehow and Nathan whimpers, moans, pleads from the top of his lungs.

 _No. Let me go. Please, go away. Goawaygoawaygoawaygoaway…_

**“Nathan!”**

The voice changes, turns into something non-threatening and far less deadly. It’s Simon. Simon is speaking to him, not Dixon.

“Nathan, wake up! You’re dreaming. You’re okay!”

He’s confused and baffled as he wakes up in a bed that isn’t his, a bed that smells of someone else. Smells of Barry. His entire body is shaking and his limbs are all tangled up in a big duvet that he doesn’t remember wearing. A lamp switches on by the nightstand and Nathan blinks and clutches at his head. As the rush of adrenaline begins to wear off, he finally looks around the room, makes certain Dixon is nowhere to be seen.

“Shit, are you okay? That sounded pretty intense.”

Nathan looks down and spots Barry on the mattress that was really meant for him.

“Barry, why are you on the floor?”

Barry rubs at his eyes and it becomes clear that Nathan has interrupted his sleep by causing such a commotion. 

“You fell asleep in my bed,” explains the other boy meekly, “I didn’t want to wake you. I - I know you’ve had a rough day.” 

Nathan’s mouth falls open, but he doesn’t know what to say. He feels embarrassed and pitiful. He doesn’t understand what’s happening to him. Dixon is gone. Dead. No longer in existence. He will never touch him again. The threat is all imaginary, it’s all in his head. Maybe he’s starting to lose it. Maybe he’s finally going crazy. 

“Nathan?” Barry studies him worriedly as he waits for him to say something. “Your nightmare - it was about him, wasn’t it? You dreamt he was hurting you again.”

It might as well be a rhetorical question, Nathan decides. Of course it was about him. Of course it was Dixon fucking him over, all over again, and haunting his fragile unconsciousness. They both know the answer to his question, so he doesn’t actually have to say it.

“Tell me,” utters Nathan instead, frightened at the reality that every night is going to be like this, “tell me what you did to him. Please? I need to know. I need to know he’s not coming back. Tell me where you put his body.”

At that, Barry sits up straight and eyes him wildly.

“Keep your voice down! My parents’ room is just down the hall, are you out of your mind?”

“Yes,” chokes Nathan frantically, “I thought that was pretty obvious!”

Barry’s expression softens and grows more sympathetic.

“I’m sorry, I - I didn’t mean it like that. Look, why don’t I get you some water? You’ll feel better if you take a deep breath.”

He gets up from the floor, but Nathan startles and realises he can’t handle being on his own right now.

“Wait, don’t go!” Barry looks at him as though he’s gone mental, but he doesn’t care. He even reaches out his hand as he asks him to stay: “Please, I just need you to talk me out of it. I need to remind myself what’s real and what’s not. I don’t want any more of this traumatising bullshit, okay?”

His breath hitches before coming out all shaky. Barry stills himself completely before he turns around and takes a seat in front of Nathan. He watches him carefully, which has Nathan dreading what must be going through his mind just now.

“The reality is,” utters Barry quietly and honestly, “that Dixon is dead and can never threaten or harm you again. I know because I killed him. I used my power to take him by surprise, and then I beat him over the head with a hammer.”

Nathan lets out a small gasp, not as a judgment, but because it never ceases to amaze him how resolute and vigorous Barry can be sometimes. The guy will stutter his way through most conversations he’s ever had with him, but when it comes to killing someone and disclosing his actions methodically, Barry is stone cold and deliberate. 

“Jesus,” whispers Nathan, failing to say anything else.

“I beat him several times, to make sure he was dead. His skull and brains were all smashed in at the end. You can ask Kelly about it if you want, but she probably doesn’t fancy talking about it. It was pretty… graphic.” Barry pauses then, thinking. “But then again, the way he cut your throat was so _heartless,_ I - I just lost it. I didn’t even think twice about it, I knew I had to take him out. I knew I could never let him do that to you, or anyone else, ever again. We wrapped up his body, Kelly and I. Then we sailed out to the lake-”

“The lake?” Nathan furrows his brow disbelievingly. “You mean, like we did with what’s-her-name’s body? The second probation worker.”

“Sally,” Barry corrects him, nodding sadly, “yeah. We didn’t have much time to think. We just had to get rid of him. I swear to God, Nathan, I had no reservations whatsoever. I felt no remorse. I… I wanted him to suffer. I was feeling almost high, or _possessed,_ in the moment and I’m not sure what came over me, but - I really fucking wanted him to die.”

Barry looks almost spooked at his own admission. Nathan begins to shiver involuntarily and he’s suddenly worried Barry will think he’s feeling repulsed by him. He’s not. It’s just a fucking lot to handle right now.

“When you say you were feeling high, or possessed,” whispers Nathan feebly, “what do you mean exactly?”

In response, Barry swallows nervously. 

“I’m not sure. I j-just wasn’t feeling myself. I wasn’t thinking straight. My head was all woozy”

“But, did you feel…” Nathan doesn’t know the word he’s looking for. He doesn’t know how the question is going to come out. “Was it true what Kelly told Alisha and Curtis? Were you feeling sick? The way I was, I mean.”

The idea of Dixon targeting Barry is making him feel anxious. How could it possibly have happened? Had Dixon seen him talking to Barry at the bar and thought that the best way to get to him was by incapacitating the people around him? Had he really been that callous and desperate for revenge?

“Did he drug you? He did, didn’t he?” Nathan’s voice breaks and before he’s even aware of it, his vision blurs with tears. “Oh my god. It’s all my fault. Fuck. He could have seriously harmed you. I mean, we don’t even know what drug he used. It could have killed you. I would be fine if it killed me, but it could have killed _you_ for real!”

He feels physically ill. Nothing about this is okay. This is something he simply cannot come to terms with.

“Nathan, I’m fine. I swear. I’ve recovered. And it wasn’t your fault.” Barry immediately tries to calm him down. He puts his hand on Nathan’s knee, tries to get him to look back at him. “Please, Nathan, I’m not blaming you for anything. I would never.”

There it is again. The nagging feeling that everything is utterly and hopelessly horrible. That _he_ is horrible. Nathan feels himself breaking down as he presses his face into the palms of his hands and begins to crumble. 

“I’ve fucked up,” he wheezes wretchedly. “I’ve really fucked up this time.”

“You haven’t. Nathan, please look at me. He’s to blame for all this, not you.”

He looks into Barry’s eyes as if trying to decide if he means it. If it’s true that he doesn’t hold last night against him. Barry is still touching his knee, he realises suddenly. Nathan isn’t sure whether it’s his imagination, but he feels slightly warmer. He feels less shaky. 

Barry retracts his hand as soon as he catches Nathan lowering his gaze. 

“Look, man, I’m sorry I ever dragged you into this. I never thought you’d get hurt because of me.” Nathan shakes his head, feeling daft and rueful. The sound of his voice is so ridiculously meager. He hopes the two of them will never have to speak about this day again. “I should never have asked for your help with Dixon. You’re right, it wasn’t fair of me.” 

“But, Nathan, you needed the help.”

“I know, but - look where it got us. You risked your life, for nothing.”

“Saving you was not nothing.” 

There is a moment of silence between them because, inevitably, Nathan feels all burned out. He can’t think of anything else to say. Barry seems to understand his sudden muteness, and so, he doesn’t pressure him. He doesn’t force the conversation any further than that. 

“Look, maybe you should try to go back to sleep. You need the rest.”

His instincts are telling him the exact opposite, telling him to stay alert for the sake of his own sanity, but Nathan just nods. Barry spent all of last night handling Dixon’s remains, the least he can do for him is lie back down and pretend to feel better so he doesn’t keep him up any longer. 

“Yeah, okay.” Nathan pulls the duvet back over his body before realising that it’s Barry’s. “Wait, do you want your bed back?”

“No, it’s fine,” insists the other boy, “I’m good down here.”

“Are you sure?”

“Please, Nathan, you’re my guest. Make yourself comfortable.”

Nathan tries, and he’s surprised to find that, the second the light switches off, his eyes begin to close on their own while his breathing slows down. His body is begging for sleep, even if his mind is still on overdrive. Little by little, he gives in, trying hard to ignore the voice in his head warning him that this is how he’s most vulnerable: dormant and unaware, while Dixon, as if empowered by death, is forever on the prowl, ready to strike as soon as he lets his guard down. 

*

Simon likes the look of Nathan asleep in his bed and very much hopes his bedsheets will smell of him now. He’s never watched Nathan sleeping before. It feels so different from watching him when he’s dead. He enjoys the slow rising and falling of his chest when he breathes. He savours the small noises he makes, like when he lets out a soft groan, or small puff of air. It reminds him that Nathan’s body is warm and alive. That the blood is flowing healthily inside his veins, where no one can touch or corrupt it. 

This feels good. Knowing that Nathan is safe feels good. Though he’s beautiful when he’s dead and his skin is all white beneath Simon’s fingers, there is something stunning about the way that living-breathing-Nathan’s cheeks blush, and the way his eyelashes flutter in his sleep. He looks so still and untroubled like this. Nathan hasn’t said a word about it all day, but it’s evident that the damage Dixon caused him lingers and manifests in him. It’s plain to see the agony in his eyes. Simon hates that Nathan blames himself for what happened. If Simon hadn’t stolen his drink, he would have never been affected. How he wishes he was able to tell him the truth, but then again, maybe if he had, Nathan wouldn’t be lying in his bed right now. And more than anything, Simon selfishly wants to keep him close. 

_If only I could tie him to the bed, I could keep him here forever._

_I will never grow tired of watching him next to me._

When he’s certain that Nathan is dead to the world, he opens the camera on his phone and snaps a picture. He nearly panics when the flash causes the room to light up, but Nathan doesn’t even stir. Simon quickly checks the picture, admirers Nathan’s face, Nathan’s glossy curls resting on his pillow. Then he closes his eyes, finding solace in the knowledge that, at the very least, he will always have this.

He wakes up the next morning to the sound of Nathan’s ringtone.

“Yeah?”

At first, Simon pretends to still be asleep, suspects that Nathan will try to leave the room if he knows he is listening. It’s not like he can help waking up like this. It’s not his fault that he ends up overhearing the way Nathan whispers:

“Tonight? You got it. And how long do you need me for?”

He’s meeting with another client. Suddenly, Simon blinks his eyes open and sits up straight.

“No, Nathan. Don’t.”

Nathan catches Simon looking at him, signalling for him to hang up the phone, but he merely replies:

“It’s a date, then. See you at ten.”

_No. Not so soon. What the hell is he thinking?_

“Nathan,” he gasps dramatically, “you can’t be serious!” 

Nathan puts down his phone and wipes the sleep out of his eyes, groaning:

“Barry. How long have you been awake?” 

“Long enough to hear all that,” snaps Simon. “Why, Nathan? Why would you agree to… to do this again? You’re not ready!”

He doesn’t understand. He’s given Nathan a place to stay. He’s ready to offer him all the help he needs getting out of that awful community centre, and settle in somewhere else. He’s prepared to buy him a new bed, new clothes, whatever it is he needs. But he’s not prepared to watch him give himself up to strangers again. He can’t. He’s too traumatised. It’s going to tear him apart.

“Look, I’m sorry,” utters the other boy, sensing Simon’s outrage, “but I need to make the money Dixon never paid me. I - I didn’t mean for you to find out.” 

“Didn’t mean for me to find out? So, what, you were going to get yourself murdered again without telling us?” Simon notices Nathan’s twitching as he puts it bluntly. “No, Nathan, please don’t. Can’t you cancel it? Stay with me another night, it’s safer that way.” 

“What, stay here? Again? And what exactly would your parents say to that?” He looks at Simon, completely unconvinced. “Barry, you know this is not a long-term solution.” 

“I know, but - just for now,” Simon insists, “until you’re not plagued by nightmares anymore. Until you’re actually feeling better.”

To his amazement, Nathan looks like he’s actually considering his reasoning. Simon can’t believe how anxious he feels at the idea of letting him go. He feels they have grown closer overnight. Nathan has allowed Simon to see him in his highly sensitive state. The last thing he wants now is to put any distance between them. Nathan has got to believe that he only wants what’s best for him.

“I don’t know,” he utters finally, after a moment’s thought. “Are you sure your folks wouldn’t find it weird?” 

“Of course not,” Simon answers desperately. “Anyway, I’ll handle them. It’s not going to be a problem.”

_I’m not going to **let** it be a problem._

_Just stay with me, forever._

Simon excuses himself and gets up to use the bathroom. He’s not entirely sure what his plan is, but it seems to be working. He’s earned Nathan’s trust. For now, all that matters is the fact that Nathan needs someone to look after him and, with his permission, Simon could be that person. He wants to be that person. It feels right. After all, he knows Nathan. He can make him happy if he only lets him.

“Would you like some breakfast? I’m pretty sure there are some leftover waffles in the kitch-”

Simon returns to the room to find Nathan standing by the mattress, holding Simon’s phone in his hands. Taken aback, he stops mid-sentence and looks at the other boy with shock. Nathan’s expression is wary and vigilant. 

“Your alarm went off,” utters Nathan simply, without taking his eyes off the screen. “I was just going to turn it off, I didn’t mean to… I didn’t know your camera was open.”

He pauses and Simon instantly knows that something terrible has happened. 

“Give me back my phone.” He snaps, surprising even himself. “Please.”

But instead of handing it over, Nathan flips the screen to show him the picture he’s left open so carelessly. The picture of Nathan, sleeping in his bed, with his cheek pressed snugly against Simon’s pillow, wrapped up to his neck in Simon’s duvet. In the cold light of day, the picture is creepy and transgressive. Simon knows there is true feeling behind it, knows that he can justify it to himself, but to Nathan, it’s going to take a lot more than that to excuse the breach of trust.

Simon stares into Nathan’s eyes helplessly, mortified as he fails to say anything. So Nathan glares back at him and does the talking for him:

“What the _fuck_ is this? Answer me, you freak!” 

If Nathan swipes left and continues to the next picture, Simon realises with dread and anticipation, he’s going to find out what his stiff, naked dead body looks like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm hoping to start writing chapter 3 as soon as I can next week, please bear with me for a few days :) 
> 
> Stay safe everyone x


	3. You Belong To Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone - happy 2021!
> 
> So sorry for the wait, I feel it's been extra hard coming back from the holidays this year. Hope everyone had a pleasant and safe New Years, though.
> 
> This chapter is quite a long one, and I must say I struggled to get through it. (Still getting over writer's block from Christmas and everything currently happening!) Hope it reads okay, and thanks again for the lovely feedback <3
> 
> *Trigger warnings*: Graphic depictions of murder, violence, with elements of dub/ non-con, including non-consensual touching, kissing, voyeurism and urination. (*hides face in hands*) Simon's behaviour is getting more twisted in this chapter!
> 
> Also, belated happy birthday to Robert Sheehan!

“What the _fuck_ is this? Answer me, you freak!” 

Nathan doesn’t scroll through his phone, doesn’t find any more of Simon’s deadly secrets. He’s fixating solely on the picture of himself sleeping, for which Simon is grateful. This one is much easier to explain.

“Don’t go through my phone, Nathan,” Simon warns him sharply. “Give it back.”

When Nathan continues to dangle the picture before him while he awaits an explanation, Simon snaps and steals the phone out of his hands aggressively. But Nathan doesn’t stand back down. 

“Answer my fucking question, pervert!”

“I’m not a pervert!” Simon barks madly, though he has no right feeling so indignant. “Don’t talk to me that way! I’ve - I’ve done nothing but protect you…”

“And that’s your idea of protecting, is it? Perving on me in my sleep? Is that why you brought me here? You thought I was fair game because I was in your bed?”

“What? No! God, Nathan, you’re sounding so fucking paranoid!”

_He was almost raped. Of course he’s paranoid._

_He’s right to be._

_You **were** perving on him._

Nathan is glaring at him, his nostrils flared with rage. He’s so worked up, he’s almost shaking. 

“Just tell me why you took that fucking picture,” he demands, pulling away from Simon like he’s suddenly wary of him. “You have five seconds, then I’m out.”

“Will you just calm down? Stop acting like I’m gonna do something to you. I - I can explain.”

“Yeah? Well, you better!” 

Nathan’s eyes are revealing something that’s hidden much deeper behind all his fury. A sense of fear, perhaps. An insecurity. A hint of embarrassment. Simon feels desperate to appease him.

“The picture, it was - it was for Kelly. I took it for Kelly.” Simon pauses as he tries to figure out where to go with this. “She wanted to know you were okay. I - I took a picture of you sleeping to prove to her that you were feeling better. I didn’t mean anything by it, Nathan, I swear.” 

The other boy stares at him with hesitance. Simon can’t tell if he’s actually buying this or not.

“You sent this to Kelly?” Nathan sounds painfully unconvinced, even as he nods. “So if I ask her about the picture, she will tell me the same thing? That you took it for her benefit?” 

Simon doesn’t dare to speak this time. Whether he confirms or denies, he’s fucked. Nathan is seeing straight through him. Awkwardly, he shoves his phone deep into his pocket, hiding it away before Nathan can discover any more of his lies.

“Right. I’m out of here.”

“No. Nathan, wait! Where are you going?”

“I dunno. Anywhere but here,” the reply sounds dramatically.

“No!” Simon cries. “I - I don’t want you to go. You - you shouldn’t be alone right now, remember?”

But Nathan still goes for the door. Simon’s final resort is to pull him back by the arm, as if that is going to be enough to stop him. Nathan flinches the second he touches him.

_Don’t touch him, you moron. Don’t make things worse._

“I’m sorry,” Simon gasps, “I’m sorry, okay, just - wait. Let’s talk about this.”

“No!” Nathan snaps, yanking his arm free of Simon’s loose grasp. “I have nothing to say to you, I’m done with this, d’you understand? I’m leaving!”

“You can’t go back to the community centre!” Simon tries one last time. “Come on, Nathan, you’re overreacting. You know you’re safer here!”

“Right, yeah. I feel so much more secure with your creepy camera in my face!” Snorts the other, unamused. “Trust me, I’m better off on my own!”

He flees the room and Simon follows him desperately, runs after him all the way down the stairs.

“Nathan,” he hisses with despair, even as the other boy tears the front door open, “please, I - I thought you said I was good. You - you said you liked my crazy.”

“And, what, that gets you a free pass?” Nathan huffs. “That’s what you heard, was it? Unbelievable!”

He storms out and Simon thanks his lucky stars that both his parents sleep in late on Saturdays and for that reason won’t catch him chasing their house guest halfway across the front garden.

“Nathan, it’s all just a misunderstanding! I’ll prove it to you. I never meant to offend you. Forget what I said before. I want to be involved. I want to help you. Even if it means going through with tonight’s meeting. I can be there. I’ll show you that I mean it. I can keep you safe, like you asked me to.”

He can’t stop himself. It’s like verbal diarrhea, just spilling out of him.

“No! You stay away, do you understand? Consider your invitation withdrawn,” Nathan retorts meanly, “you think I want you there with your camera, you sick twat, well I don’t!”

“Nathan, stop! I said I would help you-”

“By doing what exactly? Filming my dead arse getting drilled so you can sell it on eBay?”

“What?! No!”

“Were you hoping to do a little drilling yourself, you necrophile?”

“Don’t call me that,” Simon’s voice breaks emotionally, “take that back!” 

“That’s what all this is about, isn’t it?” Nathan stops and turns around, eyeing him cruelly. His words are like a knife to the chest. “The murders, my dying, you stabbing me, you hanging out with my corpse, this has all stirred something inside you, hasn’t it? You really are a pervert! You’ve grown a taste for my blood, haven’t you? You were gonna use me for your depraved fetishes-”

The imaginary knife is stabbing him again and again, each word twisting and edging the blade closer to his heart. Simon can’t bear it any longer.

“Fuck you, Nathan! After everything I’ve done for you!”

He pushes the other boy, but Nathan withstands, keeps glaring at him mercilessly. 

“Admit it! You are only offering to help because you love dead bodies! That’s why you kept the probation worker in the freezer for so long! Stiffs turn you on!” 

Simon shoves him again, harder. 

“Oh, are you trying to kill me now? Yeah, you would love that, wouldn’t you? You can’t wait for me to die again!”

“Keep your fucking mouth shut, the neighbours are going to hear,” Simon growls, as nervous as he is furious. “Are you trying to get us both in trouble?”

“What’s that? The necrophile is scared of getting caught?” Nathan is back to taunting him. “I CAN’T believe I trusted you with my body! I should’ve known you’d get all weird and freaky with me!”

“STOP calling me that!” 

“Stop calling you what? Necrophile? Freak?”

“Fuck you!”

“Let me finish. Pervert? Sick bastard? Tell me, exactly which one offends you?”

“I’m warning you, Nathan…”

“Oh, you’re warning me? What are you going to do? Do you want another go at stabbing me?”

Simon does something worse. He jumps forward and tries to force his hands against Nathan’s big, stupid mouth, tries to smother his insults and accusations before it drives him mad. But Nathan, naturally, resists, and Simon’s hand slips and misses and presses desperately into his neck in a failed attempt to silence him. He doesn’t mean to go anywhere near his throat. It wouldn’t have happened if Nathan wasn’t twisting and yelling at him, making his aim so awkward and disoriented. It’s not like he’s actually trying to damage his neck. His palms are flat, his fingers spread out and refraining from closing around his windpipe. But of course, Nathan reacts as if that’s precisely what he’s intending to do. He startles and chokes up, pulls away from his touch with a sense of danger.

He’s repelling him, Simon realises.

Nathan is repelled by him. 

“Don’t say another word,” Simon threatens, or begs, or maybe something in between - either way, Nathan couldn’t utter a sound even if he wanted to. Astonished, he shields his throat, protects himself from any violence that may or may not fall to him. Despite everything, he fully believes that Simon holds the potential to hurt him. “I warned you,” Simon grunts as he tries to stand his ground. “You can’t just walk out on me and call me th-those… those atrocious names. It’s all a big joke to you, isn’t it? You don’t care what words you throw out there. You don’t care about anyone else. You don’t care about me. Otherwise you… you would give me a fair chance.” 

He’s not entirely sure what he means by that, and neither is Nathan. Nathan watches him warily, his eyes alarmed with distrust. Miraculously, he’s still not speaking. 

_You’ve hurt him, you fool._

_Nathan doesn’t ever go quiet like that._

_He’s never going to forgive you._

“Nathan,” Simon begins again, although he doesn’t know what to say at this stage. He doesn’t know whether to demand an apology or offer one. “Look, can we just calm down before anyone finds…”

Nathan immediately turns away from him and starts to walk away. Turns him down definitively. And it honestly feels like such an insult, Simon has to physically restrain himself from running after him, just to yell at him some more. Who does he think he is, calling him probably the worst name in the book, then ditching him like he doesn’t expect there to be consequences? Contrary to what he may think, the consequences of his insensitiveness are already forming as Simon begins to plot his revenge. 

If Nathan is daft enough to believe that he can do this all by himself, by all means, Simon will let him. Simon will watch him fail miserably and he will not interfere.

This is going to hurt Nathan a lot more than it’s going to hurt him.

*

That night, Nathan swaps the leather for a skin-tight red top paired with a black mini-skirt which looks suspiciously like the one Kelly bought with Alicia a few weeks ago and wore on a night out, then never wore again because it was too tight. It appears she has kept it in her locker all this time, maybe in the hope that she could still return it, or maybe because she forgot about it. Either way, Nathan must have had his eyes on it for a while, because annoyingly, the damn skirt fits his slim figure perfectly and he knows it. When his client shows up, it becomes clear why he’s chosen it. The older man who walks into the community centre, mere ten minutes after Simon’s unannounced arrival, seems to have a thing for his legs, because he keeps asking a rather drunk Nathan to straddle him, and sit in his lap, all while he runs his hands up and down his naked thighs.

Simon has a feeling that Nathan is aware that he might here, spying on him again. He keeps looking over his shoulder, as if trying to catch a glimpse of something or someone with an omnipresence. He won’t see him, of course. He’ll never be able to prove that he was here. He’d only make a fool of himself trying. Simon can practically imagine everyone’s reactions, can practically hear Curtis mocking him:

_“Why would anyone in their right mind watch you get murdered and fucked for money, you prick?”_

Was Simon in his right mind deciding to come here? Probably not. Because tonight, he realises, he’s here for something unforgivably cold-hearted. He’s here for Nathan’s downfall.

From the looks of it, he’s mixing pills and alcohol, so it doesn’t take Nathan long to reach the brink of oblivion. The effect enables him to crawl into his client’s lap obediently, putting up with the older man’s touches and praises. When the man cups his face with one hand and his arse with the other, Nathan doesn’t even flinch. He’s swaying dangerously, though, and Simon suspects he’s about to crash.

“Don’t black out on me too soon, baby,” hums the man, sounding more excited than anything. “You know I like doin’ that job for ya.”

“And you kn-know I charrrrge extrrrra for that,” Nathan drawls, his speech slurring fast. “I’ll throw in three p-punches for just anotherrr £20. Jus’ fer you, love.” 

“Oh yeah,” chuckles the man sadistically, running his hand up and down Nathan’s back, “now you’re talking.”

Simon frowns with dread as the scumbag pulls out a note from his pocket, seemingly having it ready like it was always his intention to get rough. He sneaks it into the hem of Nathan’s, or rather Kelly’s skirt, after which his hand goes back to feeling up his thigh. 

“You really do look sexy wearin’ this, ya know.” 

Nathan wheezes deeply in response, sagging against the bigger man like he’s fading suddenly. The man takes advantage of his loss of control and pulls him forward, pushes his head back in order to press his mouth to his jaw where he kisses and nibbles at his smooth skin. Nathan’s expression is blank, he just lets it happen. Simon wonders solemnly if he would shove the man back if he could.

“You ready for us to start, love?” Asks the man almost kindly, though his intentions are anything but.

Nathan tries to nod, but falls against his client again, light-headed.

“Jus’ one rrrule. No t-touching my nnneck unless ‘m already dead.”

“Don’t worry, princess. You know I never go for the neck.”

Simon is close to gasping audibly when the man slaps Nathan across the face with a heavy hand. Nathan, however, remains perfectly silent, even as he loses his balance and has to rely on his customer to catch him. The older man quickly pulls him close, inspects the damage and presses a kiss to his reddening cheek.

“You take it so well,” he praises him darkly, causing Simon’s stomach to churn. “You’re a good lad, aren’t you? Such a good lad.”

Then, completely without hesitation, he hits him with a clenched fist, much harder than the first time. When he retracts his hand, there’s blood spattered across his knuckles. 

“One more,” utters the man gleefully, holding Nathan’s face before his own so he can kiss his lips. The kiss mingles with blood from where Nathan’s cheek has split open, and yet, Nathan, with his eyes half-open, doesn’t object. “Brace yourself, babe.”

Simon, indeed, tries to prepare himself, but is still close to whimpering when the man puts all the strength he can muster into the final blow. He hits Nathan so forcefully, he falls straight out of his lap and lands flat on his back, with the back of his head cracking open on the concrete floors. He’s out cold immediately, or maybe even dead. Simon is shocked to see the pool of blood forming quickly underneath the mop of curls. He desperately tries to calm and collect himself, and remind himself that this is exactly what Nathan’s power enables him to do: Die barbarically and return to life like it never happened.

When the man rushes to his side, Simon is naive enough to assume he’s tending to him, perhaps regretting his roughness. But the man is merely checking for a heartbeat, laughing carelessly as he finds it:

“Yeah, you’re still with me. Good. There’s more where that came from.”

Simon grows increasingly appalled when the torrent of abuse continues with the man lifting Nathan’s head off the ground, only to smash it back into the floor like he’s trying to absolutely shatter his skull. He’s furiously destroying Nathan’s chances of recovery; he makes sure by kicking him in the chest, and in the ribs until Simon can hear several bones cracking. 

“Let’s see how long you can make it this time, huh,” grunts the psychopath breathlessly, kicking the lifeless body over and over again. “I’m getting all fired up for you.”

It’s when the man is down on his knees, bashing Nathan’s abdomen like he’s a mere punching bag, that Simon stifles a gag and realises there is no way he is able to see this through. He turns away from the attack, closes his eyes as he pretends to know nothing, witness nothing, like that’s enough to make the guilt go away.

_He’s beating him to death._

_Don’t pretend this isn’t what you came for._

_You’re here for his humiliation, aren’t you?_

He bites back the bile in his throat, but remains hidden while he can still hear the thrashing, the kicking and slapping that carries on like it’s never going to end, Simon presses his palms against his ears, trying frantically to drown the violence out. 

_Don’t pretend you care._

_You want him to be fucked without you._

_You want him to come crawling back._

By the time he finally wills himself to resume watching, it’s not the bloodbath, but the fact that Nathan is being flipped over and undressed which haunts him. While this client is both rough and eager, at least he doesn’t rip Nathan’s clothes the way Dixon did. In fact, he merely pushes the fabric aside, pulls up the mini skirt rather than removing it completely. Nathan is wearing pink briefs underneath, which are quickly yanked down to his ankles. Simon feels dizzy watching the man remove his own belt and preparing himself.

“That goes here, darling. You know the drill,” he mutters as he fastens his belt around Nathan’s throat, pulling his head back tightly as to stop him from breathing. “Look at you, all saddled and ready to ride.”

He puts on a condom, but doesn’t bother using lube. Consequently, Nathan starts bleeding pretty much the second he pushes in. Simon hates the look of the man jumping on top of him, pressing hard against Nathan’s shoulder and using his other hand to tighten the choker around his throat. He acts as though he’s actually riding, or taming, or domesticating an animal. He’s large as a juggernaut on top of Nathan, though nowhere near as heavy as Dixon was. He’s pinning him down harshly, despite the lack of resistance. He fucks into him mercilessly for five minutes or so, until he pulls out and flips him over again.

“Yeah, look at me, you bitch,” he snarls, laughs, staring down to meet Nathan’s dead expression now that he’s face-up. “Look who’s breaking you in like a good, little whore.”

He spreads Nathan’s legs wide open and penetrates him again, only this time, he pauses regularly in between frenzied thrusts to slap the dead boy’s face, again and again as if asserting control. 

“D’ya like that, bitch boy? D’ya like Daddy’s big cock?”

He pounds and slams into him, then - **slap!**

“What’s that? I’m breaking you in half? Too bad. Here’s another inch for ya.”

Deep thrusts. And - **slap!**

Simon shudders and covers his eyes until it’s over. This is soul-wrenchingly disturbing. Depraved and incomprehensibly ugly. It’s so bad, he can feel hot tears prickling in his eyes while his mind growns foggy and dark with disbelief. He knows this is completely insane, twisted and wrong. And yet, he’s felt his cock twitching ever since Nathan’s pink briefs were removed.

_God, I’m a freak, I’m a freak, I’m a freak, I’m a freak…_

_I can’t enjoy this._

_I **can’t.**_

He waits nervously for the man to finish with him. As soon as he’s out of the way, Simon runs to him, crouches down by his side in order to let it all out.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers in despair, because he can’t stop his hand from wrapping itself in Nathan’s curls. He can’t stop his lips from pressing down to his, cold and insatient as they are. “I’m sorry,” he repeats, despite not stopping.

He doesn’t mean to kiss him.

He really doesn’t.

Just like he doesn’t mean to take out his phone and snap a picture of Nathan’s busted cheek, red and swollen, or of his lips, split and bloodied. He takes a step back and zooms out in order to capture more of his injuries, including the belt that is still strapped around his throat, the purple, dark-red bruises colouring his chest and abdomen, not to mention the blood in between his legs. Despite Nathan’s beaten and abused look, each picture feels undeniably precious. 

“You’ll be okay,” he whimpers, mainly to himself. “It’s okay.”

He startles at the sound of the client’s voice and rushes back to his hideout. The man walks back in, phone in hand, carrying a bucket of water which he ends up just pouring over Nathan’s paling corpse. 

“Come on, Julia, I’m begging you. I’m a changed man,” he pleads even as he lazily begins to wash the blood off Nathan’s face. “You can’t keep me out of me own house like this. You can’t just turn the kids against me. Give me another chance.”

He wrings the sponge before wiping more blood off Nathan’s chin. He doesn’t even look at him. He doesn’t even take a second to admire the stunning creation he’s made of Nathan’s body, ethereal in all its almost sad delicacy, mingled with the tragedy of his violation. Simon realises he doesn’t appreciate Nathan’s marvel and rarity. He doesn’t appreciate how privileged he is to have had him.

*

“The fuck you starin’ at?”

Simon loses his train of thought when Nathan catches his eyes trailing his every move, watching bruises and marks that are no longer there, checking for a non-existent limp which he had most certainly expected. 

It’s embarrassing how often he forgets that he should only really observe Nathan when he’s invisible and alone. He definitely shouldn’t be doing it in the locker room, in front of the entire gang.

“N-nothing,” he stutters, mortified to learn that everyone’s watching him now. “It’s nothing.”

Nathan is in a foul mood all of Monday morning, so Simon does the sensible thing and tries not to antagonise him by talking, or even breathing anywhere near him. Kelly, however, doesn’t understand the change of chemistry between them. She remains concerned for Nathan’s well-being, looks at Simon curiously when Nathan walks out on them, bumping Simon’s shoulder passive-aggressively on the way. 

“Why’s he takin’ his anger out on you?” She asks when Curtis and Alisha, too, have left. “Am I missin’ somethin’?”

Simon shrugs and wishes there was a way to dodge that question.

“It’s all just a misunderstanding,” he murmurs, hoping she won’t dig any further.

She does.

“What happened? Did you fight when he spent the night at your house or what?”

“No. Well, I don’t know. He seems to want me to back off. He thinks I’m too involved all of a sudden.”

Boy does Simon know how to spin the tale in his favour. Kelly replies:

“Too involved? You killed the guy who… you-know-what. He’s lucky you’re involved, Si. He’s a lot safer for that reason.”

Simon knows that’s not true.

“I guess.”

Kelly opens her locker wide and rummages through it for the third time that morning.

“I don’t get it,” she snaps, “I could have sworn I kept it here.”

“What?” Simon inquires casually.

“My skirt, I can’t find it. If one of those trashy youth workers have nicked it, I swear I’ll shave their fuckin’ head!”

*

It’s Wednesday night and Simon is admiring the new mattress Nathan has bought for his earnings. 

He’s scheduled for another appointment in an hour, which is why Simon is once again lurking the halls of the community centre, hoping to watch the process from start to finish. However, rather than finding Nathan showering and putting on make-up, he finds him napping, like all he needs is a simple recharge.

Despite having his bed back, he’s probably still struggling to sleep. He’s been wearing that look of pure exhaustion over the past couple of days. Simon doesn’t think Nathan ever sleeps. Being dead for six or eight hours at a time isn’t the same as resting. And when he finally does try to doze off, his trauma is more persistent than he is.

Simon sees it with his own eyes.

Nathan begins to twist and turn as if in pain. Simon knows perfectly well who haunts him, and yet he can’t do anything to help. Nathan has to learn to escape it on his own. 

_**“No! Stop! Get away from me!”** _

He wakes up suddenly, screaming, shielding his face before he realises where he is, sees that no one is trying to get to him. Not physically, anyway. The relief is short-lived. Though Dixon is gone, Nathan’s face falls as he remembers he’s about to die again.

*

The alcohol somehow makes it better. It enables him to get into a different mind-set.

Nathan greets a new client like everything is a-okay. He’s wearing nothing but black lace underwear and high heels. The shoes may be another thing he’s stolen off Kelly, but Simon can’t bring himself to care. He’s never seen Nathan look so stunning. He films the whole thing, films those long, lean legs and that elegant walk he does as he shows a much older man inside, without even a wobble. He can’t believe the shape of his small waist, or those protruding hips. He can’t believe he’s capturing it all; the small curve of Nathan’s arse, his flat, hairless stomach, his nipples, his surprisingly gorgeous feet and smooth, pale calves, staggering and swaying about the place like a natural.

For a moment, Simon can pretend it’s all for him. The slow, seductory strides back and forth, the bending over, which makes his bony arse look fuller, the smiling, the teasing. When he skillfully catches Nathan on his phone like this, he can almost make it look like it’s aimed at him. He can make it look like he’s the lucky bastard Nathan poses for. 

Of course, the fantasy is ruined when the nameless client steps in between him and the camera, blocking Simon’s view. 

“You got these just for me?” The man is short and bulky, probably in his mid-fifties. He takes Nathan by surprise and cups his arse rudely. “My god. That’s… You look… phenomenal.” 

“Cheers,” utters Nathan, offering the man a cheeky wink, though Simon can tell he’s vexed by the groping. “I hope Daddy likes what he s-sees.” 

“Oh, Daddy likes. Daddy likes a lot,” groans the man who presses Nathan against his chest eagerly. Nathan trips, causing one of the heels to fall off his foot. “Daddy can’t wait to appreciate his good little slut...”

“My sh-shoe fell offfff, Daddy,” slurs Nathan, wrapping his arms around the stranger’s neck to keep himself from falling. “Help me, please.”

“You’re asking so nicely for Daddy’s help. You’re a good boy, aren’t you?” The pervert uses both his hands to squeeze Nathan’s arse this time. “Alright, I’ve got you. Hold on.”

He picks up Nathan and carries him bridal style across the room, lets them both slump down together in a chair that has obviously been taken out for a reason. 

“Let’s get you out of these,” smirks Nathan’s ‘Daddy’ for the night as he eases the other shoe off his foot and begins to kiss his ankle. “And what about these? They look tight. I’m sure you’re more comfortable without them.”

He tries to sneak his hand into Nathan’s underwear, however, Nathan stops him.

“I’m not g-getting out of these untttttil I finish my bottle. Say, Daddy, cccan you get it for me?”

“Ask Daddy nicely, baby boy.”

Simon can hear the strain in Nathan’s voice as he forces a giggle. He’s not into whatever fantasy he’s promised his client to fulfill, and yet he just keeps his arms around the stranger’s neck, imploring sweetly:

“P-please, Daddy, can I have my bottle?”

Nathan begins to down what looks like a shitload of rum. He must have built up his tolerance, because Simon would certainly be spewing by now. He’s utterly wasted, of course. But it’s still not enough, considering what he will be going through soon.

“Are you almost there, baby?” The man touches Nathan’s belly impatiently. “Can we move things along?”

“N-nearly ready,” Nathan hisses, grimaces at the fire in his throat. 

“Please, can Daddy have a kiss? Daddy needs his baby boy so bad.”

He’s already going for it, and Nathan only manages to dodge his lips last second. In response to the unwanted advances, he suddenly turns the bottle of liquor upside down, makes certain to spill the drink all over his client.

“Whoops. Clumsy m-me. I’ve messed up Daddy’s ssshirrrt.”

“Christ!” The man nearly jumps up, close to knocking them both over. “I’m all soaked, you little-”

Nathan quickly stops him.

“What are you sssaying, Daddy? Have I been a bad boy? Am I gonna get punished?”

Nathan winks at him and finally, the idiot catches on.

“Oh!” The man laughs with pleasure then. “Right. Yes, you’ve been a _very_ bad boy damaging Daddy’s clothes like that. Clearly you need to be taught a lesson.”

Simon gawks longingly at Nathan who gathers his hands behind his back obediently. The man takes out a pair of handcuffs from his pocket. Simon wonders how much he’s paid for this privilege, because when he cuffs Nathan’s wrists together tightly, the boy doesn’t waver. 

The idea of Nathan handcuffed and restrained does something to Simon’s blood. He can feel it coursing through his head, making every inch of him twitch with anticipation. 

“Daddy needs to know you’re sorry for what you’ve done.”

“But I am sssorry, Daddy.”

“Oh, you will be. Trust me.” He pulls Nathan’s head back roughly, forces his mouth open by guiding the bottle in between his lips. “Drink up. Do as you’re told.”

Nathan tries, having very little choice when the man begins to pour the rum. He swallows the liquid quickly, trying hard to keep up in order to prevent it from spilling down his chin. 

“Good boy. Keep going,” the client tugs at his hair warningly. “You can do it, love.”

Nathan gags and comes close to retching. The man reacts by prying his mouth open with his fingers, cruelly forcing the rest of the drink down his throat. 

“It’s for your own good. You’ll need it for your punishment.”

Simon’s trousers have become too tight by the time Nathan is rearranged in his lap and instructed to lie on his stomach. Simon unzips himself. After all, his invisibility will protect him. He begins to stroke his cock and is immediately rewarded by the sight of Nathan bending down and raising his arse in the air. 

“You won’t need these, baby boy. We can’t have anything softening the blows.”

The black lace underwear is being pushed down. Simon holds his breath and picks up a steady rhythm as Nathan’s pale cheeks are exposed. God, he looks divine. 

“This is all mine, do you understand? Your pain and pleasure, it’s all mine.”

The man smacks Nathan’s backside loudly, causing Nathan to jerk and let out a whimper.

“Now, now. You can take your punishment without making a sound. I can make this a lot harder for you if I have to.”

“I’m s-sorry, Daddy.”

“Did I say you could talk?”

He smacks Nathan’s arse cheek violently, and with his hands cuffed behind his back, all Nathan can do to muffle his groans is bite his lip.

“That’s more like it.”

He strikes him again, and again, his hand big and unyielding. Though Nathan is able to keep quiet, he can’t keep from thrashing and grinding.

“Good boy. Do you like the sting? Do you like it when I hurt you?”

_Yes._

Simon nearly blurts out his reply, begins to lose all self-control as he strokes himself harder. He realises he needs to excuse himself before he slips up and accidentally brings attention to himself. He photographs Nathan’s handcuffed wrists and reddening arse cheek before rushing off to the nearest toilet.

_Oh god, yes._

He climaxes in no time inside the stalls, while the images are still burning themselves into his eyes. It almost makes up for the fact that he’s missing the live show. 

He cleans himself up and heads back out, finds that Nathan has passed out during his spanking. The client merely pushes him off his lap and drops him to the floor before digging something out from his pocket. For a moment, Simon assumes he’s going to unlock the cuffs as he reaches for Nathan’s hands. Instead, he uses a small pocket knife to viciously slash both his wrists.

_Holy fuck._

The man takes his sweet time tying Nathan to the chair, wrapping his abdomen in just enough rope to keep him upright. Then he steps out of his trousers, begins to fuck Nathan’s mouth while he slowly bleeds out. It’s taking a while for him to die at this pace, so the client grows impatient and uses both thumbs to squeeze against his windpipe. Whether Nathan dies from strangulation or blood loss in the end, Simon isn’t sure. He only knows that, as his life is taken from him, his bladder automatically empties, the piss streaming down his legs and mingling with the blood by his feet.

The client doesn’t seem put off by it, because Nathan’s slack lips are still accepting probably seven inches of hard cock, forced deeper into his throat now that Nathan can’t physically choke or fight him. 

Those beautiful, full lips are starting to glisten with drool and other fluids. They look almost painfully stretched around the older man, who is both girthy and careless in the way that he fucks in and out of him. At one point, Simon can practically see the outline of the bastard’s dick, ramming itself so far down that Nathan’s throat bulges obscenely.

It’s so frustratingly savage, and hot, and shameful, Simon doesn’t know how to keep a lid on his emotions. It’s too soon for him to manage another erection, so when the man eventually comes down Nathan’s throat and pulls out, he finds another way to ride his new wave of pleasure. The client leaves Nathan tied to the chair while he fucks outside for a smoke. Simon, of course, is all over his friend the moment that they are alone. He’s utterly mesmerized by the cum that falls out of Nathan’s mouth and by the blood that continues to gush from his severed wrists. He leans in, angling Nathan’s head so it falls back limply. 

_He’s so pretty._

_So fucking pretty, it physically aches._

Simon presses his lips to the base of his throat, below fresh finger-shaped bruises. He grazes his front teeth against his cold skin, bites him shallowly while he spreads his legs open and begins to urinate. He’s pissing all over Nathan’s lap, which no one will ever know, because who can tell his fluids from Nathan’s own?

“You’re mine,” he whispers darkly, without filtering himself. “Forget what he said. You’re **mine.** You belong to me, always.”

*

Unsurprisingly, he is beginning to think he will never look Nathan in the eyes again.

Nathan still thinks it’s all about the stupid picture of him sleeping, unaware that Simon has moved way past that. Kelly seems to think it’s all a miscommunication thing, though she senses Nathan isn’t ready to dig deeper and talk about his feelings. 

The only person who seems pleased with the way things are going is Alisha. Alisha who doesn’t care that Nathan is retreating and keeping to himself, doesn’t know about Simon’s infatuation, or about his secret mission to live and breathe in the shadows that allow him to see, and feel, and become absorbed in his forbidden passion.

After all, Alisha still believes that this passion is going to belong to her some day. She makes the daunting mistake of bringing up this silly notion in front of Nathan.

“Si? Are you free Saturday night? I think it’s time we have a talk.”

They’re mopping the floors in the main hall, with Kelly and Curtis cleaning the outdoor windows. For some reason, Alisha doesn’t mind Nathan who’s directly behind them and has taken out his earphones. She must be fully aware that he can hear them.

“Talk?” Simon furrows his brows with confusion. “About what?”

Alisha seems annoyed that he doesn’t know.

“You know. I think it’s time we talk about us. About everything that’s… supposed to happen.”

Supposed to. Meant to. Bound to. Simon wonders who’s really in charge of his destiny, because it sure doesn’t feel like it’s him. 

“I - uh, I don’t know if Saturday is any good,” he hesitates. He catches Nathan moving further away from them as he starts to mop the back of the room. He almost always has appointments with clients on Saturdays. Though Simon hasn’t overheard any of his phone conversations recently, he bets he has something planned. “Some other time, maybe?”

“Simon, this is important.” Alisha holds his gaze seriously. “Future-you died for this. Died for me, for us, so we could be together. I think we should at least talk about what that means. Don’t you?”

Nathan puts his earphones back in. He’s trying to show him how little he cares for their conversation. He’s trying to shut Simon out.

“Simon?” Alisha snaps, waves her hand before his face. “Are you listening to me?”

“Yeah. Sorry. I…” He doesn’t have a clue what to say. Nathan acts as though he wants nothing to do with him. Why should he be enough reason to turn Alisha down? Alisha is gorgeous. Alisha is cute. Most guys would give their right arm to be with her, and for some reason, Alisha likes _him._ “Okay. Yeah. Saturday night is fine,” he caves, feeling too awkward to decline.

“You do want this, don’t you?” Alisha studies him endlessly. She can’t seem to stop. “Future-you definitely wanted this.”

“Y-yeah. Sure.”

Simon stares back at her owlishly. He can tell she’s not satisfied with his answer. He’s supposed to give her something more than that. She’s not the one who’s supposed to make all the effort.

Nathan has turned up his music loud and is now dancing by himself in Simon’s peripheral vision. Simon tries hard not to take his eyes off Alisha, tries his darndest not to pay Nathan any attention. He is probably doing this on purpose. He knows his weaknesses and he’s setting Simon up for failure.

“So, where do you want us to go on Saturday?” Simon tries one more time to feign interest. 

“It doesn’t matter.” Alisha touches his arm and offers him a pensive smile. “Just wear something nice, yeah? Something that future-you would wear.”

*

Friday becomes Simon’s last chance to get a dose of Nathan before his dreaded date with Alisha.

In order to not raise any suspicion, he heads home after finishing community service for the day, eats dinner with his family, suffers through his parents’ asking him if he’s going to bring his new friend home again soon. Then he returns to the community centre at around nine. He doesn’t know if he’s going to catch Nathan alone or occupied. Truth be told, he doesn’t care. As long as he gets to see him, he doesn’t mind what awaits him.

Nathan will take his mind off things.

Nathan will ease his confusion, somehow, better than Alisha can.

Nathan, as it turns out, isn’t around.

Simon waits below the mezzanine patiently, because he has all the time in the world. He knows he shouldn’t keep stalking him so relentlessly, especially after their confrontation. But how can he stop? Even if Alisha has taken upon herself to lay out a plan for their future together, Simon feels he has nowhere to go, no one else to turn to. No one satisfies his interest like Nathan does. No one seems more worthy of his time.

Simon just longs to _be_ with him.

The first hour passes and the waiting only makes him all the more determined. The second hour goes by a lot slower, but he still doesn’t mind. Nathan has nowhere else to sleep. He will surely come back for the night, eventually. 

And he does, at twenty minutes to midnight. Simon blinks his eyes open when he hears voices from the corridor. He must have fallen asleep like this, sat on the floor like a desperate fool. 

_“So this is what you meant when you said you had your own place? Wow, this is really… special.”_

He’s brought a guy back with him. Simon isn’t the slightest bit surprised. He wonders how Nathan will die tonight. He wonders how his body will be used this time.

 _“Hey, man, I’ve just bought a new bed and everything. I promise you it’s well homey.”_

_“In that case, show me the way.”_

They don’t even end up using the bed. Though Nathan is dragging the stranger by the hand when they appear together and shows him upstairs, they end up simply taking turns pushing each other up against the nearest wall, both eagerly stripping out of their clothes. 

There is something very different about this client, Simon muses. First of all, he’s a lot younger than the other men Nathan has done business with. In fact, he’s probably only a couple of years older, like twenty-five at most. Secondly, he’s fit. There’s a natural appeal to him. He looks nothing like those creepy, married men usually paying to have their way with Nathan. He’s not balding and overweight. He’s strong and athletic-looking. Long hair, dark skin. When he eventually clutches Nathan’s shoulders and chooses to be in charge, effectively pinning him to the wall, Simon notices a lack of menace. He’s not demanding Nathan’s submission. He is swooning and convincing him by initiating a most urgent, fervent kiss which Nathan can’t refuse.

But he doesn’t usually snog his clients, does he? Simon guesses he can’t blame him for making an exception with this one. 

“Please tell me you’ve got a condom,” moans the stranger into Nathan’s mouth as he wraps his arms around him. 

“Ooh, bossy. I like it,” quips Nathan, after which his hand digs into his pocket. “Of course I’ve got condoms, what do you take me for?”

This isn’t how he normally talks with his clients. Normally there is no banter. He sounds weirdly casual. He sounds like he’s being himself for a change. 

“Fuck, I’m so hard. Do you want me to prepare you?” 

“I‘m already lubed up,” teases Nathan, kissing the guy back. “Quick, get it on.”

“Aren’t you a pro?” The guy toys with the condom desperately. “I could learn a lot from you.”

Simon thinks it’s a canny thing to say to a sex worker. Despite his rubbish sense of humour, he demonstrates his impressive power by hoisting Nathan up and lifting him from underneath his thighs. When Nathan wraps his arms and legs around him in response, he finds his back trapped firmly against the wall. 

This is how the young and unconventional client fucks him. He makes it good for him and doesn’t go straight for the kill. It feels awfully reassuring to see Nathan overcome with pleasure. Simon can tell by the sound of his groaning. He’s so overcome and enraptured, Simon forgets to worry what might come next. Nathan is lost in the moment, and for that reason, Simon feels as if his mind is swimming with joy.

He would be lying if he said he didn’t feel a pinch of jealousy, but it’s all worth it watching Nathan’s fingers dig into the guy’s back as he clings to him. Nathan’s pleasure is the thing that stimulates him more than anything. Before he can stop himself, Simon reaches inside his pants and lets Nathan’s gasping spur him on.

At which point he becomes aware of the misunderstanding isn’t exactly clear. It may be the fact that no one seems to be in a rush to get to the next stage, otherwise known as the murdering. Or the fact that the stranger doesn’t draw a weapon, but in fact looks almost hesitant when Nathan suggests he can pull his hair if he wants. In the end, though, Simon’s gravest mistake was assuming Nathan to be drunk and on a mission to black out, like he always does. 

This is not business as usual. Nathan is sober enough to watch his surroundings. He is sober enough to open his eyes and look over his partner’s shoulder where he spots the cum that spurts out mid-air, spilling from in between Simon’s eager fingers. Simon may be invisible, but his spillages that land on the floor are not. 

“What the fuck…”

Simon realises something is wrong when Nathan slaps the guy’s arm and asks him to stop. Those big, green eyes are staring disbelievingly at Simon’s feet. He knows something is up. He knows they’re not alone.

“What’s wrong?” The stranger stops grinding into him. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” 

Nathan glares at him furiously. 

“Oh, no. Not a ghost. Believe me, the ones I’ve seen never ejaculated right in front of me.”

“What?” The guy can’t tell if Nathan is joking or not.

But Nathan refuses to explain the nature of ghosts to him.

Simon is temporarily frozen. His brain is all dull from his orgasm and he can’t for the life of him bring himself to act. He knows he’s in trouble when Nathan separates from the guy and jumps to the ground.

“Where are you, you little pervert?” Without bothering to cover himself up, he begins to scan the room frantically. It’s beginning to freak out the stranger who’s very clearly _not_ his client. “Come out, you sick bastard, I know you’re here!”

There’s no way in hell Simon is doing that. He swiftly pulls up his trousers and makes a run for it. Nathan appears to hear the sound of his steps on the stairs.

“Hey! Don’t fuckin’ run away from me! I’m going to kill you, Barry! D’you hear me? I’m going to fucking KILL you!”

Simon faintly hears the question that follows: “Who’s Barry? Who the fuck are you talking to?”

Even though Nathan isn’t chasing him, he picks up his speed, scared that the adrenaline will interfere with his power. Even if Nathan knows it’s him, now is not a good time to accidentally reveal his face, or his open fly. He’s almost at the bottom of the stairs when, inevitably, he trips and takes a tumble, creating a loud **thud.**

Nathan is still shouting his head off from above. Simon opens his eyes groggily, trying to work out if it’s all just a bad dream. When you dream, though, no matter how intensely, any fall you take will cause you to startle awake. He suppresses his overwhelming sense of disappointment when that doesn’t immediately happen. 

Then he just pushes himself back up and runs for his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks very much for reading, and sorry for yet another cliffhanger! (I know, I know, those silly boys were supposed to kiss and make up haha!)
> 
> Any feedback is much appreciated, I'm aware the story is getting quite dark, so if you feel any trigger warnings or tags have been left out, please let me know! :)


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